Snogwarts: Fissure
by SNOGWARTS
Summary: And then it was over. They both left just as it began to rain.


Pairing: Draco/Harry  
Assigned by: Courtney  
Disclaimer: This bites.  
Other: Good luck, dahling.

* * *

"If it isn't Saint Potter," sneered Draco, approaching Harry from the opposite end of the alley. He'd grown since Harry had seen him last. He was taller, but still lean; he'd lost the coltish look of his Hogwarts days and had instead grown into the frame of a proper aristocrat. His pale hair was slicked back, his eyes luminous against the moon-pale skin of his long face. Harry couldn't help but think he had improved with age, though the thought was quickly stifled by the sound of Malfoy's voice. "Pray tell, what's the hero of the wizarding world doing in a dark alley _all alone_?"

Harry shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes, withdrawing his wand in idle threat as he moved to brush past Malfoy.

"None of your business, Malfoy." The words 'shove off' bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed them down. He was Auror Potter now. He was the hero of the wizarding world. Juvenile phrases such as that should be circumvented.

"Are you sure I can't be of service?" asked Malfoy, grabbing Harry's wrist with an unexpectedly swift movement. His eyes glinted, and for a beat Harry couldn't decide if Malfoy was kidding or not. Instead of waiting to interpret, Harry shoved his wand roughly against Draco's chest.

"Leave me alone."

"Always keeping me at arm's length, eh, Potter? We could've been such great chums." Now Harry knew he was teasing. Still, memories flitted briefly through his mind: Draco, offering his hand for a shake as Harry turned him down; glowering over his breakfast; crying in the bathroom; covering his face with his hands and telling Harry about life with his father; momentary vulnerability, a second where Draco's face was so near his own that he could smell spearmint on his breath...

"Doubt it, Draco."

Draco.

The word passed between them like a fissure. They never used first names; it was easier to villify 'Potter' and 'Malfoy'. Their eyes met, and Harry watched stupidly as Draco's face seemed to loom closer, closer -

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, only dimly alarmed. Although this had never happened before, Harry felt as though this very moment had been hurtling toward him - them - since that first day Harry had aligned himself opposite of Draco.

"Something stupid," Draco answered, but what Harry heard was I am the thing hurtling toward you.

In the dark of the alley beneath the cover of sunset, their lips met. There was no tenderness. Draco's lips were chapped. It was abrupt and harsh and involved the scrape of teeth and the pull of Draco's fingers through Harry's knotted hair. There was no tenderness because they felt none. There was no thought of walking hand in hand, of moving to a cottage in the country, of being together for more than this brief second.

They were so alike - both battered, disillusioned. Shoved abruptly and unceremonious into adulthood. Living the lives expected of them without complaint, without thought, without wondering if it was what they really wanted. They were the same and they were not the same. Mostly, though, they were the same, and they hated each other for it.

Harry's hands slid beneath Draco's robes, against the cool, pale skin of his chest, wrapping around to feel the muscles of his back. Draco's lips moved to Harry's jaw, trailing down his neck, and leaving a path of angry red in his wake.

A groan tore from Harry's throat, setting in motion a flurry of movement. Then rustle of robes, the sound of Harry's body being shoved roughly against the wall, the sound of a zipper and the feel of Draco's breath against his ear. When all else was indistinct, who was to say that they were not merging into one?

"Mr. Potter? Um, Mr. Potter?" The voice echoed down the alley, followed by the pitter-patter of distant footsteps. "We've got to get a move-on if we're gonna - oh."

The young auror who had been calling for Harry stared at he and Draco, who were pointedly not looking at one another as they adjusted their robes.

"What is it, Pierpont?" Harry asked, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt beneath his robe.

"I saw him, that way-"

"Training exercise," Harry explained to Draco, who merely sniffed and nodded. "I'll follow after a brief word with Mr. Malfoy." Harry told the young man, gesturing into the distance. Pierpont nodded and then, with a lingeringly curious glance toward Draco, departed.

"Well," Draco said.

Harry nodded. "See you round, then."

"Maybe," Draco said.

"Bye." Harry said.

"Yeah," Draco said.

Harry nodded curtly and turned to follow Pierpont, but Draco grabbed his wrist again. Their hands clasped together for a moment, fingers linked. "We'd never have been friends, even if..."

"I know."

And then it was over. They both left just as it began to rain.


End file.
